Junctions
by TheWildThyme
Summary: I hardly knew him. He was there, and yet not. He was familiar, and yet distant. Of course, Beacon Hills was a small town—barely enough room to breathe. Our paths had crossed before, and they were likely to cross again. Stiles/OC


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Junctions

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**Chapter 1 Patterns **

My sword slashed through my opponent in one clean motion.

It was the last blow I needed to finish him off, and the attack was all I had left. Our fight has stretched far too long—any longer and I would have been a goner. I would be the one cut in half, reeling on the ground.

I knew the risk. I knew _this _risk—winning, a sliver away from losing. That's what danger was: never knowing if you're going to survive and always knowing you might not. I understood. As I witnessed my crumpled opponent deteriorate, I understood it even more.

Still, a victorious smile laced itself onto my lips. I had won. The feeling of victory warded off the butterflies inside of my stomach, engendering something akin to confidence inside me. But the battle wasn't over yet.

I heard it before I saw it. Even as my body twisted and my sword-wielding arm came up, I worried hearing was not enough—not fast enough, not alert enough. I worried this would be one of those times when I didn't make it.

The monster came at me with flashing speed. I could hear a roar behind his lips, the noise which had first alerted me. His arms came down, slashing at me with his own sword, but I deflected. A _clang _was heard as our swords parried. Our swords yelled louder yet. We blocked. We attacked. I pushed him back. He pushed me back. Finally, I had gained the upper hand. Finally, I was ready to—

"Wendy!" came a shrill voice. "Wendy, get down here! Breakfast is ready!" I sighed, and my nose scrunched up in annoyance. Her sudden voice made me stall in my actions, my right hand pausing over the computer mouse. My eyes focused on the computer screen where my avatar fought off the level 79 Shadow Samurai. However, the battle would be cut short. My mom hated when I spent too much time on these games.

I logged off from the web browser, shutting down the computer. I shot one last longing look at the computer before rolling my eyes. _Nerd, _I chided. However, I had stopped fighting my inner nerd long ago; I wasn't about to pick a fight with it today.

By the time I made it downstairs, the smell of pancakes wafted through the air, a surprise considering we weren't big on the family breakfast. But today was special. It was the last day of break.

The smell was pleasant, so I let my sleuthing nose and grumbling stomach take me into the kitchen where my mother and brother already were.

"Wendy, how nice of you to join us," my mother greeted, her smile sarcastic. As the acerbic words left her mouth, she was occupied in front of the stove top, spatula in hand. She turned to look at me when she spoke, but now twisted back to the stove top in front of her, her brown hair flying out at the sudden movement.

I rolled my eyes. Instead of replying, I took a seat next to my brother Cody on a stool next to the kitchen counter. As I sat down, he raised an eyebrow, the master of looks without words. I saw the dull curiosity in his blue eyes, but I shrugged and reached for a plate.

"Were you playing that game?" Cody asked, leaning closer to me when our mother had turned to the refrigerator.

"It's your fault you got me addicted to it," was my grumbling reply that I said without looking at him. Instead, I lifted up from my stool, leaning across the counter to take the spatula. With it in hand, I planted a pancake on my plate. He seemed like he wanted to argue. However, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shrug and return to his breakfast.

"So kids," my mom began, focusing back on the two of us. Her brown eyes narrowed, "any plans for your last day of break? Assuming you've completed your homework, of course." She had one of those Mom faces that could expression little, yet know everything.

My brother and I shared a glance before regarding our mother with assurance in our identical smiles."Of course, Mom," Cody said, nodding with a reckless smile on his face. "Procrastination is bad." Meanwhile, I tried to hide my smile behind a bite of my pancake.

She raised an eyebrow. With the spatula she had picked up, she pointed at my brother. "Now why don't I believe you? Hmm, maybe it's because you've spent the majority of your break out gallivanting with Scott and Stiles." Mom had Cody there, and she knew it too. The three amigos were never seen far apart, always creating some sort of commotion. In fact, the three of them and the word shenanigans were synonymous by now. It was a miracle they had lasted this long in my opinion.

My brother didn't seem fazed, shrugging off her accusations as he did most things. "Speaking of," he said, between bites of his pancake, "they're coming over later."

"And so in between now and later you'll be doing homework, right?" she prodded. One eyebrow was raised as her gaze washed over him. She appeared assertive, despite Cody's nonchalance. However, her pointed scrutiny couldn't shatter the calm my brother always epitomized.

"Sure," he said, stabbing his pancake once more. My mother's eyes stayed on him for a moment, before she accepted his response. Then the woman turned to me.

"Wendy, what about you? Any fun plans until tomorrow?" my mom asked. This time her smile was real, excited. Sometimes, I felt she was the teenage girl, not me; thoughts of outfits, manicures, pedicures, and whatever else enticed her. She always tried to encourage that side of me—she and Lydia—but it didn't always work.

"Lydia wanted to go shopping, but Lydia wants to go shopping every day," I explained, smiling at the truth in my statement. I lifted my fork up, looking down at my plate and at the pancake I had begun eating. Moments later, I shrugged and set my fork down, glancing up at my mother with a smile still on my face. "Maybe we'll do something different today, but…"

"Probably not," Cody and I said in unison. I glanced at him and glared. He only shrugged, a smirk lifting up onto his lips like a plane taking off from the runway. I only scowled more, but of course it did nothing. I'm sure we could have kept making faces at each other for a while. Fortunately, our mother spoke up before we could continue.

Across the counter, she regarded us, amused. "Sometimes, I forget that you two are twins," she began, "but then _that_ happens."

I raised my hands up like I was on the defense. "I would have been fine being an only child." Slowly, I returned my hands down onto the counter, shrugging. "It's your fault you had him a few seconds before me."

My mother rolled her eyes. I turned my gaze to my twin to see him shaking his head at me. "You couldn't live without me," he promised, raising his chin up quite haughtily.

"What?" My eyes went wide in faux shock. "You mean, I couldn't live without boy stink in the bathroom or your friends eating all the food in our fridge? Hmm, yeah, that would be a real hardship," I muttered, tapping my cheek in contemplation.

He only smirked, not affected by my dry words. He hopped off the stool before I said anything more. Much to my shock, he had already finished his pancake and was washing his plate.

"How are you already done?" I exclaimed, looking down at my half eaten pancake and then back at him.

"Because I prefer to eat breakfast rather than fight some Dark Mage." He sent me a knowing look.

I made a face at him, annoyed at his teasing. "For the record, it was a Shadow Samurai, and I don't appreciate the tone," I replied, pointing my fork at him. I smiled as both my mother and brother rolled their eyes at me. My twin walked away with a sigh, having already washed his plate.

As he left, I turned back to my mom who cleaned the stove top. Her brown bangs hid her face from view. "So, Mom, what's with the impromptu pancakes?" I asked.

She paused in her cleaning, her sponge halting as she scrubbed. With her face hidden by her hair, I couldn't see her initial expression. Instead, I saw the expression she changed her features to when she straightened from where she had been bent over. She had a soft smile on; it was full of assurance as she spoke. "Well, Wendy, your father and I have to talk with you and your brother soon, and I thought that today might be the day." My mom nodded like she felt content with that answer.

I scrunched up my eyebrows in confusion, my mouth falling open as I puzzled over her words. "Okay…What about?" My gaze went back to her.

She hesitated, making me wonder what was on the tip on her tongue. "We'll talk about it then, okay?"

I paused too. I took the moment to contemplate her expression—her new wrinkles and her slight smile. "Yeah, Mom, fine," I said, not convinced, but not willing to press the issue either.

A few minutes passed, and I had finished my pancakes. A few minutes more, my plate was washed and I was upstairs taking a I felt I had tackled the beast that was my bed hair, I turned off the faucet, wrapped myself in a towel, and stepped out of the shower.

I wiped clean a circle on the mirror with the palm of my hand. Scanning the mirror, I saw my brown hair in wet ringlets and my skin pale under the harsh lighting. My blue eyes were clear. They were also absent of their usual contacts, which was why I had to be close to the mirror to see my reflection. I smiled at the mirror, encouraging my mood to reach the elation of the simple grin. However, my mood wasn't altered easily. Dragging a few fingers through my hair, I attempted to undo the tangles, but it was fruitless without a comb, which was in my room at the moment. Adjusting my towel once more, I opened the door to the bathroom, walking onto into the hallway—and right into someone else.

At first, I thought it was my brother, yet then I realized in pure horror that it was not my brother.

It was one of his friends. Stiles.

The boy who at the moment had his jaw wide open like an unhinged door. He looked at my face, at my towel, back at my face, and then he took a few steps back, nearly tripping over…air?

When he had regained a still twitchy stance, I figured someone had to speak and it wasn't likely to be him, so it had to be me. "Stiles," I said assertively, despite the situation. I nodded in acknowledgement, my expression tight. I decided it was best to not look embarrassed by the situation, even though I felt petrified by the awkwardness.

"Wendy," he greeted, seeming like he didn't know where to look, _that_ or he found the crown molding off my house really entertaining. If he was this nervous around me, I wondered how he'd react in a situation like this with Lydia, the girl he actually had a crush on.

"Are you going to move?" I asked testily. If I hadn't been using my hands to keep my towel covering me, I would have had my hands on my hips, an imposing gaze lighting up my eyes. Of course, I could engender an imposing gaze without my hands on my hips, like I was forced to do right now.

"Move?" he repeated, his eyes flashing back down to me. I raised an eyebrow. He seemed even more unnerved now that we had caught eyes. "Right! That is right!" His head nodded and his hands went up and down at every word, pointing at me like I had just answered a question correctly. "_I_ should be the one moving because I am not the one wearing a towel as my only clothes and did not just get out of the shower and am not wet and—"

"Stiles." I ended his rant since I didn't want to know how many things he could add to that list.

"Right, sorry." He nodded. He looked back at me and then his hand flew up to cover his eyes.

My cheeks attained a pink hue, and I was glad that he couldn't see the blush. I raised an eyebrow and murmured, "Uh-huh, so you going to do that then?"

"Do what?" he asked, peeking his eyes out between his fingers.

"Move," I said forcefully, for the second time.

His hands fell down to his side and then he snapped one his fingers and pointed at me. "Oh, yeah! Moving! Movement! That-that is the thing that I definitely was going to do," he said, nodding his head too many times for me to count.

"Stiles? Wendy?" We heard our names called from down the hallway. Turning in unison, we saw my brother, confusion ridden across his face.

"It's not what it looks like!" Stiles said instantly, his hands up like a police officer caught him in a crime, which I found kind of ironic considering who his father was.

"And what does it look like?" I asked indignantly, the same time as my brother. Our heads both swiveled to look at Stiles, staring at him with identical expressions of accusation.

"Uh, I don't even know." His jaw wobbled as he spoke. He had nearly pressed his back against the wall in shock. Now he seemed frozen in place, but then he flailed his arm out, pointing defiantly. "But whatever it may seem like it is, even if it definitely seems like that, I can assure you that it is not that." He paused, sucking in a much needed breath. "At all."

I squinted at him, confused. From down the hall, Cody looked equally baffled at his friend. Of course, he should be used to it by now. I, on the other hand, had few experiences with Stiles, and I definitely had no experiences like this one with anyone.

"Yeah, okay," Cody retorted, walking over to us. I was thankful when he grabbed Stiles by the shirt and proceeded to drag him down the hall.

As soon as he left, I deflated, embarrassment flooding my senses. My forehead fell against the door frame. I sighed. Fortunately, no one saw the red flames on my cheeks. The hallway was absent of any people, like it should have been when I first walked out the door. Knowing I couldn't do anything about the past, I eventually straightened up from my position and walked down the hall and into my room.

By the time I was dressed with my hair still damp, my house was quiet. I assumed Cody had left with his friends, and my mother was who knows where. Still, the house was quiet and peaceful, and I considered spending the day here. I could continue playing my game. I could have one last peace-filled day before going back to school. The prospect seemed pleasant, but in the end, I decided I shouldn't be a hermit, despite how lovely the idea sounded. I called Lydia.

After the two rings, I heard the clink as she answered. "Happy last day of break!" I greeted with dull cheerfulness, smiling even though I knew she couldn't see me.

"Happy? Our last day is nothing to be happy about, Wendy," Lydia replied. I waited, knowing she would continue. "_Happy_ would mean you finally did something different with your hair"—I rolled my eyes—"or your clothes"—I tapped my foot, waiting for her to finish—"or you finally got yourself a boyfriend."

"Gee, someone's judgy today," I murmured. I leaned against my bed, drawing circles in the blanket idly.

"Not judgy, just bored," she replied. She sounded so tired she might as well have been listening to a lecture on the rules of golf.

"And being bored gives you an excuse to judge me?" I smiled into the phone knowingly.

"I thought that was obvious," Lydia remarked, and I knew she smiled too. "But really, Wendy, we should go shopping today."

"Really? Because we never do that," I mocked.

I could feel her rolling her eyes at me. "We need to plan our outfits for tomorrow, _at least_."

"Right, and you totally haven't had your outfit planned for weeks now." I knew I had her there. Knowing Lydia, her outfitted had been picked and perfected before break had even started.

She paused before she spoke. When those words finally came out, they sounded annoyed, which wasn't a surprise. "You know, sarcasm isn't attractive."

I grinned. "But you love me anyway."

"Only when you're not being snarky," Lydia replied. I rolled my eyes. Our conversation were about 75% banter on any occasion, anyway. "Still, while _I _may have my outfit picked, I know for sure that you haven't."

"Well, that's not completely true," I insisted. My mouth was open, ready to say more, but she spoke before I could.

"Saying you're going to wear jeans, your Converse, and some shirt does not count as 'planned,'" Lydia ascertained quickly, her voice pitched high.

She had a point. I could surely throw something together last minute, but it wouldn't be up to Lydia's standards, and I would have to deal with her complaints all day if I didn't wear what she wanted me to on the first day back. "Fine." I sighed. "My house or yours?"

"My house," she insisted instantaneously. Her speed made me suspicious. I sighed into the phone and hesitated before speaking, but for a completely different reason than my suspicions. Lydia filled in my silence. "Let me guess, you need a ride."

"Well, I doesn't exactly have a car—or a license," I added glumly. My lack of driving ability perturbed me greatly, but I wasn't sixteen yet.

"I'll be there in ten," she said, before hanging up the phone. I slipped my phone into my purse, tapping my foot as I was unsure of what to do in the next ten minutes. Eventually, I walked downstairs, but was surprised to see a figure in the foyer—my brother. The brown-haired boy stood staring through the window, looking like he was in deep thought.

"I thought you had already left." The words surprised him, but not even to make the surprise noticeable because he only barely flinched.

He turned around to face me, and while I walked over to him, he spoke. "Stiles left to pick Scott up, but then they were going to come back," he explained. I nodded and stood next him. Silence fell as we waited for our respective rides. I looked out the window, checking for incoming cars, but then I felt his gaze on me. He saw that I noticed him and instantly smirked.

"What?" I asked, arching an eyebrow. The look unsettled me, like he knew something I didn't—which was not something I liked.

He shrugged. But then before he could stop it, a sly little grin filled his features. "I saw you had a little encounter with Stiles this morning."

I widened my eyes, but before the embarrassment could hit my cheeks, I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. I put my hands on my hips, taking a steady stance as I gazed at him with steel in my eyes. "It was an accident. Who cares?"

Again, my brother seemed noncommittal, shrugging with his hands in his pockets. Yet, that small grin still lifted up at the corner of his mouth. He didn't say anything for a while. Just when I started to turn away from him, thinking he wasn't going to say anything more, he spoke.

"You know, I always thought you and him would be good together."

I stopped. My eyes widened. Slowly, I turned back around to face him. I had rearranged my features again, not letting him see how his words had surprised me. I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but I settled for sarcasm instead. "Yeah, and I always thought you were crazy, but I didn't go around sharing my opinions with the world."

He only smiled back in return. "Whatever you say, sis." I squinted at him, unsure and confused. This was the first I had heard of this opinion, and hopefully it would be the last of it.

It wasn't long until a car rolled up along the street outside our house and honked to get our attention. We both looked out the window to see whose car it would be. I was happy to realize it was Lydia's bug.

"Goodbye," he called after me.

I raised an eyebrow at him, stopping in my walk. He expected what came next. "'Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away…'" The quote fell off my lips softly. I looked at him, eager for him to finish. A small emerged on my lips like a submarine rising from the water.

He rolled his eyes. I nudged him, making my expression encouraging and pleading at the same time. Finally, he sighed. "'And going away means forgetting," Cody finished. Then he squinted at me. "You know, if the guys ever hear me quoting that, the teasing won't ever end."

I smiled and nudged him on the shoulder. "That's why you only do it with me."

The quote was from Peter Pan. It was our favorite movie when we were kids, back when we believed everything could end in a fairytale and all our problems could be solved in an hour and seventeen minutes. The movie is largely the reason I'm called Wendy now. My full—unfortunate—name was Gwendolyn; Wendy was a nickname.

The grin stayed on my face as I said goodbye to my brother and walked out the front door to Lydia's car.I slipped into her passenger seat and greeted the strawberry blonde. I buckled my seat, waiting as Lydia reapplied her lipstick. In her rearview mirror, I caught a movement: A jeep pulled up behind Lydia's parked car.

"Let's go," I said to Lydia.

"Are you in a hurry or something?" she asked, putting the cap back on her lipstick

"No," I replied instantly, "but you know, we have outfits to plan, people to see. So step on it, Red."

"How many times do I have to tell you my hair's Strawberry Blonde?" I grinned because I did know that; I chose to make the mistake to annoy her.

"Then step on it, Blondie," I ordered. My head fell back against the headrest. Despite her little huff of annoyance, Lydia started the car. I tilted my head in the direction of Lydia with my head still on the headrest. I shrugged when she looked at me oddly.

"Okay, weirdo," she said, before shifting the car into drive. She peeled off from the side of the road, driving the familiar route to her house.

I watched out the window as she drove. Beacon Hills went by in a blink. I found it odd how big and small the town could seem all at once. There were 30,000 people in this town, and I hardly knew any of them. Yet, compare that to a bigger city—like nearby Sacramento and its almost 500,000 people. If I lived there, I'd know even less of the population. Though, I would still have the same number of essential people in my life: my parents, my brother, and Lydia. All those possible connections, the junctions of various individuals, and yet it wouldn't matter. I knew I'd still have the same people in my life; I wasn't looking for that to change.

Offhandedly, I wondered where my twin would go and hoped he wouldn't get himself in trouble on the day before we went back to school. Knowing him and his friends, he probably would. The optimistic side of me said they would just practice lacrosse. The pessimistic side said they would engage in shenanigans. I had the tendency to believe the pessimistic side when it came to my brother.

We arrived at Lydia's house, and she parked the car. Up into her room we went. I managed to say a quick hello to her mother before I was pulled into Lydia's room and plunked down onto her bed.

"Okay, why do I get the feeling that you have something planned?" I murmured knowingly.

"Planned? I don't know if I'd called it planned." She turned away from me and entering her closet, rifling through some items.

"Then what do you call it?" I called, leaning forward to project my voice into the room.

"Necessary." Lydia returned with a Macy's bag in her hands. A grin lit up her features. "This is necessary, trust me."

I sighed, but didn't fight as she pulled out what she had in the bag.

First was a dress. Its top half was grey and fitted. The bottom was black with hints of turquoise. It wasn't something I'd usually wear—the sleeves too short and the length of the skirt not long enough either. I was more of a sweater person, that or a coat. I had a love for hats too, but Lydia hated whenever I wore one, warning I would get 'hat hair' like it was some fatal disease. Unsurprisingly, the next item Lydia pulled out of her bag of tricks wasn't a hat. Instead, she pulled out a black jacket with three quarter sleeves, but it was an improvement. Black heeled boots for my feet, turquoise earrings for my ears, and I was set.

"When did you do all this?" I asked, looking up at her. The clothes were in my hands, feeling like some foreign substance.

Lydia only shrugged, but then a sly grin slipped onto her lips, accosting her expression. "I have my ways."

The corner of my wanted to slip up into a smile too, but I stopped it. Instead, I put the clothes items on the bed and slowly backed away from the outfit. "Well, thanks for the effort, I guess, but—"

"You're wearing it tomorrow," she affirmed, not taking no for an answer.

I looked at her in annoyance, frowning at her before relenting. "Fine, whatever," I complied, sitting back on the bed. "What's wrong with what I usually wear anyway? I thought I wasn't entirely unfashionable."

"One word," she began, raising up a pointer finger. "Hats."

I rolled my eyes, mumbling something like "whatever" before letting my back fall back onto her bed. Lydia, seeming happy that I agreed, sat herself down at her desk.

From my position laid down on her bed, I looked up at her ceiling, tracing patterns in the ridges. "Do you think this semester will be any different, Lyd?" I asked. I turned my head until my cheek rested on the bed and I could look at my friend.

"I'm hoping it will be a hat-less semester," she replied quickly. At her desk, she inspected her nails for any blemishes. She didn't even turn to look at me as she spoke.

"No, but really," I prodded. I didn't know why I was so insistent about this, but it nagged at me like a petulant itch. "Anything could happen." I rolled onto my back again, staring at the ceiling, bored as ever.

"So?"

"So," I began, taking in a large breath as I considered what I was saying, "it's just weird to think about. We only have a few years of high school left and then college. Isn't it kind of scary how much effect right now has on the rest of our lives?"

From her position on the chair, I could hear her sigh. I shifted to stare at her, surprised that she looked back at me this time. Her green eyes locked onto my blue ones. Her gaze was assertive, whereas mine was decisively less so. "Wendy, we can be scared of what's next or we can make sure what's next is what we want. There's no in between."

"Easy for you to say, Ms. Queen Bee," I replied in a huff. "The rest of us aren't as assured."

"You'll be fine, Wendy. You always are," she assured dully.

Looking back up at the ceiling, I smiled soft. "I've never had reason not to be."

I didn't realize that would change very, very soon.

* * *

When I came back to my home, darkness painted the sky. I retired into my bedroom for the night. The clothes Lydia had picked out for me—and I had grudgingly accepted—were laid out on the floor for the upcoming morning. My backpack sat next to it, while my mind sat up in the clouds, thinking and worrying about what the next day could bring.

I shouldn't be worried about it—realistically, I shouldn't. But I was, and it was inexplicable and involuntarily, yet completely normal of me to worry…until eventually I stopped. I thought about what Lydia said—even if was slightly harsh—and I thought about what I had said, and for some odd reason, I was fine.

I heard a door slam downstairs. I considered it could be my dad, but I remembered what my mother had told me as I got home, before she too went up into her bedroom. She had told me my dad was having another long night at the hospital. They would have to move their conversation until later.

It had to be my brother. The noise was probably his poor attempt at sneaking in this late at night. It wasn't actually that late, maybe ten o'clock, but my mom still wouldn't be happy if she heard him arriving at this hour. I grinned as a plan formed in my mind. I sneaked out of my room, closing my door with the barest of noises, and snuck into his room just as quietly. I sat on his desk chair in the darkness, unable to hide the smile that sneaked up onto my face.

I heard him creaking up the staircase. Soon, he pushed open the door, entering his room with a sigh.

"Hello brother," I greeted, my voice low and dark. It elicited the reaction I wanted.

He squeaked and jumped at my intrusion. "Wendy!" he exclaimed. "What the heck!"

I ignored the annoyed tone in his voice, too busy laughing. "Sorry, sorry. I couldn't resist."

"You could have woken up Mom!" he pointed out.

"Please, Mom wouldn't wake up if I took a freaking Mariachi band into her room," I remarked grumbled something, but didn't say much else as he dropped off his coat on the top of his dresser. "Did you have fun today with Scott and Stiles?" I asked, after his mini heart attack and my laughter subsided.

"We had a blast," he deadpanned, his voice as monotone as if he was reading from a history book.

I smiled anyway. "Good." I moved toward his door, ready to leave. However, then I paused. I looked at my brother, biting my lip as I tried to decide what to say. "Do you know what Mom wanted to talk to us about?"

He stopped. He had been going through his closest, looking for pajamas, but then he stopped. Completely stopped. He turned back to me, his expression serious. "You really don't know?" Cody asked, looking at me with a reaction that wavered between disbelief and doubt at my expense. I didn't respond, my expression confused and innocent. "Mom and Dad aren't in a good place right now."

"What are you talking about? Mom and Dad are fine," I said, repeating that word. _Fine. _We were all fine, and we were always going to be. That's what I thought. That's what I hoped.

I felt defensive of that word.

"You're so blind sometimes, Wendy," he remarked derisively. His hands were down by his side. His palms were up with his fingers splayed out like he didn't know how to express his annoyance in any other way. "We're supposed to be twins, but you must have gotten all of the obliviousness." Cody shook his head and crossed his arms against his chest.

"What are you talking about?" I returned angrily. "I'm not the oblivious one." I pointed at myself as I talked before shooting the finger back at him. "I've caught you sneaking out late plenty of times, but I don't remember you ever catching me." I gave him a defiant look, standing there straight as possible.

"Wait, you've snuck out?" Cody paused. His expression was perplexed and a little impressed. I responded with a shrug before placing my hands on my hips, anger teeming inside of me again. He shook his head. "That's not even the point! Wendy, you're oblivious to things when they pertain to you. Like this."

"Like what?" I asked, still bewildered, confused, and definitely angry. I wanted him to tell me the truth, and I appealed to him earnestly, but he didn't relent. For a second, it looked like he might speak. In fact, I could see it on the tip of his tongue, about to leap out. But, in the end, he didn't say anything more.

"We'll talk about this in the morning, alright?" he said, his older brother tone filling his voice.

"No," I insisted. "We'll talk about this now. Don't you dare go all big brother me and act like you can just keep things from me. I'm your sister. I'm your twin. We tell each other everything, so just tell me this." I paused. "_Please."_

"It's not mine to tell," he finally said, shrugging helplessly.

"You're so frustrating!" I exclaimed. My head fell back as I looked at the ceiling angrily and then turned back to him.

"Well, I'm your brother, so you're just going to have to deal with that," he surmised. He was like that sometimes—matter-of-fact. It wasn't just frustrating; it was infuriating.

"I really hate you sometimes, you know that?" I said, cross with him. I didn't know why I said it. I definitely didn't mean it, but it just came spewing out like someone broke the dam on my filter. I looked at him helplessly. I knew I should say something else, about how I didn't mean it, how I was just overwhelmed and angry, but not at him. Not really. Instead, I shook my head and opened his door quickly, before moving just as fast to my bedroom.

Once inside, I sat down on my bed. I put my head in my hand and exhaled, wishing that with the breath I let out, I could also let go of all the frustration building up inside of me. It didn't work. Eventually, I set about getting my pajamas on. When I had found a tank top and shorts, I turned off the light in my room and finally collapsed on my bed, still angry.

Minutes passed and I couldn't get to sleep. I don't know how long it was until something caught my attention. I heard a noise from somewhere near my bedroom. For a moment, I thought it was outside my door, and I considered that it could be my brother coming to apologize for being so insane earlier, or perhaps even my mother, coming to explain what the heck was going on in our family. However, neither were at the door. No one was, in fact, because the noise didn't come from outside my door. The noise came from outside my window.

Actually, the single noise wasn't what I noticed. The singe noise was a bare pin drop—inconsequential, barely audible. But then the noise repeated, and then it did again and again. My attention was consumed by the noise; it had disturbed my quiet, and that was enough to warrant my consideration. From my position on my bed, I careened my head to look at the window, the direction the noise came from. And there it was again. _Tap. _My eyebrows furrowed, and my eyes squinted, but neither helped me discern the sound's source.

I decided I had to investigate. It would do me no good to just wonder about it, at least. I sat up in the bed, about to get up. However, on second thought, I looked back at my nightstand. Resting on top was a book I had been reading. I picked it up, feeling its smooth cover in my hands. If worse came to worse, I figured I could hit someone with it. It might not be the most effective weapon, but it would have to work.

I was about to get up when I heard my window slide open. I froze in my bed, unsure what to do. The figure crept into my bedroom, allowing me to see his dark, lanky outline.

I realized I recognized the figure.

"Stiles?!" I exclaimed, surprised etching itself on my face.

The figure instantly jumped a good mile into the air. Quickly, I leaned over to my nightstand and turned on the lamp, illuminating the room.

Yep, there he was. Stiles. He looked how he always looked: slightly twitchy, somewhat geeky, and ever-presently sarcastic. There was no reason to believe that anything was amiss, except for that fact he was in my room in the middle of the freaking night.

"Wendy?!" he returned as soon as he saw my face. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"Why am I here?" I repeated, stepping back at the pure absurdity of his question. "This is _my _bedroom. I think I should be asking why _you're _here."

"This is your bedroom?" he questioned, his eyes widened, before ushering out hurriedly. "I thought this was your brother's room!"

I looked at him like he was crazy. "Well, newsflash—it's not! Why would you think this was his room?"

"It was dark!" he defended. His voice was pitched high, but the he swallowed and continued at a lower volume. "And the windows of your guys' bedrooms look very similar. Besides, I'm not as used to entering Cody's room as I am into Scott's."

"Right, because that makes it completely okay!" My words were angry, but still they had to be conveyed in a hushed tone. "You know what? I don't even care anymore." I threw my hands up in defeat, unable to do anything else. "It's too late at night, and I'm too tired. Just please get out and quietly too. My dad's home, and I really don't want to explain why you're in my bedroom at this late in the night!"

His eyes widened, "Oh yeah. That's, uh, probably very true." He nodded as he thought threw his response, a look of shocked understanding on his face.

"You think?" I said. I finally sighed, my voice calmer though still angry. "Really though, twice in one day?"

"Well, you know what my Dad says: once is an incident, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern. So it's just a coincidence!" He smiled widely, trying to appease me. But there was a reason the acts of appeasement didn't prevent World War 2—Appeasement doesn't work.

"Yeah, a coincidence that could have ended up with you getting peppered sprayed, and it might still," I threatened.

His eyes went wide. "R-right. So, I guess that's my cue to leave." He pointed at the door until he followed the direction of his finger and turned to go. However, he paused, looking back at the object in my hands. I followed his gaze to the book in my hand. "Wait, were you planning on defending yourself with a book?"

My mouth hung open for a second before I replied, "Words hurt too."

He smiled, the first time I'd seen him without a look of panic in his eyes today. I watched as his maple eyes alighted, finding myself nearly smiling too because the situation was too odd. It was nearly laughable actually, the absurdity of it all only reaching me at that second.

"Why are you even here?" I asked. All the anger had disappeared from my voice, replaced by resignation and maybe even humor.

"Well, I sort of had this thing to do that requires your brother."

"Is this 'thing' going to get you guys in trouble?" I asked, crossing my arms.

He titled his head back and mulled over my question. "Maybe." I raised an eyebrow. "Okay, probably…but we'll be fine, Wendy. Trust me." There was that word again. _Fine_. I was about to refute his point, say something about how he doesn't know what's going to happen, that he doesn't really know anything, but then he stopped me. "We'll be safe."

I paused. This time it was my turn to mull over his words. "You promise?" I asked.

"Of course," he replied, nodding.

I sighed. "Okay, I won't say anything to anyone, just…Tell him to be careful, won't you?" I beleaguered Stiles.

"Yeah," he assured, nodding his head hurriedly as he backtracked to my door. "Of course."

I smiled at his assurance. After a pause, I looked back at him once more. "Stiles, you be careful too, alright?"

He looked surprised, but then nodded. Stiles found my door finally (after fumbling in the dark for a few loud minutes) and turned the doorknob to open the door. Pulling it open, he sent me a salute as a goodbye, which I found myself snorting at. He was just about gone when I spoke once more.

"Oh, and Stiles," I began. The boy stopped and turned his head to look at me. I smiled slyly, "One last thing." I held up a finger as I walked over to him with that artful grin still on my face. I could swear I saw him gulp as I eased towards him. "Don't make this," I gestured to our current situation—him running unexpectedly into me, "a pattern." Instantly, my expression changed as I frowned at him.

He nodded again, looking like a bobble head. "Of course." He fumbled as he found the doorknob again and hurriedly made it through the entry.

I sighed as he went out the door. Figures. The one time a boy is in my bedroom, and he's there by mistake. I frowned, shaking my head and falling back into my bed, causing the mattress to release a 'hmph' of discontent.

As I rested on my bed, I considered what had happened.

Stiles Stilinski. I hadn't take much time over the years to mull over that name. I hadn't really thought anything of him at all. He was one of my brother's friends, and therefore, he was lumped into that group of boys often the cause of an empty fridge at my house. However, they weren't considered much other than that. He just filled that one file in my mind, never stretching beyond it in my thoughts.

I hardly knew him. He was there, and yet not. He was familiar, and yet distant. Of course, Beacon Hills was a small town—barely enough room to breathe. Our paths had crossed before, and they were likely to cross again.

But as of the moment, he was just Stiles Stilinski, my brother's friend and nothing more. There would be no reason for me to think any more of our encounters. Like he said, it was a coincidence.

Not even a pattern.


End file.
